


"I consider myself your prisoner"

by longhandnotebook



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Javert Survives, Anal Sex, Community: makinghugospin, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, First Time, Frottage, Javert's Confused Boner, M/M, Martingale, Power Play, Rope Bondage, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1342252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longhandnotebook/pseuds/longhandnotebook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Javert/Valjean for the kinkmeme. Prompt: "Immediately post-barricade fic wherein an unravelling Javert takes sexual advantage of Jean Valjean's declaration that "from this morning I consider myself as your prisoner... Dispose of me how you like". Valjean choosing to play along for his own reasons."</p><p>After the barricade and sewers, Javert is still morally conflicted and a bit loopy, but instead of jumping off a bridge he has kinky confusing sex with Valjean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"I consider myself your prisoner"

Jean Valjean left Marius cleaned, knitted and wrapped up in bed, with Cosette, blessed girl, asleep in the chair beside him. The filth of the sewers clung under Valjean's fingernails and at the corners of his ears, and he scrubbed until his face and hands were pale and white, more clean and raw than he had been in years. He threw his clothing in the rag pile, put on a simple shirt and trousers, passed the cleaning cloth over the candlesticks, knelt briefly to pray in thanks and went downstairs.

Javert was waiting, inscrutable beside the door post, and Valjean was surprised at how relieved he was to see him still there: the long chase was over, or soon would be. He had dismissed the carriage. The sky was still black, with a faint blue waiting in the sky below the edge of the houses.

"Follow me," the policeman said, and led Valjean through the streets of the Marais.

In the peaceful calm of the smallest part of the night, they walked in silence, and as the minutes passed they came upon the Seine, glittering dark below them. Crossing it, they turned away again to Saint-Michel, and the silence became almost companionable. Valjean was exhausted, and though he tried two or three times to think about what would happen to him now, he could not fix his mind onto it. Instead he could only dwell in the thought that Cosette was happy and cared for, which kept him content.

He was surprised when Javert stopped in front of him, at a house on a short straight street. Javert took out a key from the ring on his belt, opened the door, and gestured Valjean inside. Valjean went.

The front room was spare and very tidy, surely easy to keep that way because there was so little in it. A roll of the monarchs was on the window wall, a single bookshelf held repetitious official records and maps, and rather than a mirror, over the fireplace hung that portrait of Louis-Philippe.

When Javert lit a lamp, Valjean realised the front room was the only room. A desk and a chair were against this wall, and a single bed with crisply folded corners in the corner. As there was only one chair, both men remained standing. Javert aligned the lamp carefully, very carefully, and Valjean thought: _he doesn't know what was going to happen now, either._

Along the long wall opposite, on both sides of the fireplace, were the tools of Javert's trade, carefully looked after and ordered: polished handcuffs, two even nightsticks, and several lengths of neatly coiled rope, of various thicknesses.

Javert was rubbing his wrists, and Valjean held out his hand. There was a callous from the martingale on the inside of Javert's left wrist.

"I suppose this pleases you to see," Javert said gruffly. "Thinking turnabout is fair play."

Valjean shrugged and rolled up his own sleeves to the forearm, showing his own scars, nearly faded to shining nothingness now. "I do not take pleasure from the bondage of any man," he said.

"Hm."

The minutes stretched, and a swell of faintness came upon Valjean: it had been a long day and night with no sleep. His knees did not quite buckle, but Javert reached out and caught him by the arm. His fingers were firm and warm. Valjean felt a throb in his stomach that was not fear or exhaustion at all.

"Dispose of me how you like, hm," Javert said. Valjean didn't know whether it was directed at him, and required a response, or was a musing, which did not. He kept still, only relaxing into Javert's grip a little.

Javert said abruptly, "It's late," and push-pulled him across the room to the bed, thrusting him against the headboard. Valjean's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, tired, but Javert grabbed a fistful of hair at the nape of his neck and jerked his head back.

He leaned over Valjean to half-pin him to the bed, though they both knew Valjean could toss him off easily if he desired. But Valjean, for almost the first time in his life, did not have to be strong or fast or outwitting any more. He looked into Javert's face and slowly, almost delicately, lifted his hand to the other man's cheek. There was a welt on Javert's neck from the rope that had bound him, and Valjean lowered his thumb to trace the thin, rough line.

Javert swallowed, and the muscles of his neck moved up and down under Valjean's hand. His fingers loosened in Valjean's hair, but he was still coiled and tight, like a spring with nowhere to go. Valjean thought he understood now, but it was dangerous to make such a move: who knew how Javert would respond? Though now, at least, there was nowhere left to fall that Valjean did not think he would welcome.

Javert picked up Valjean's other hand and examined the scars very closely. He tried to circle Valjean's wrist with his fingers.

"You're used to this," he said. Valjean shrugged. Javert released him abruptly, stood up and went to the far wall, where he retrieved a length of rope, very long and medium heft. "Have you ever felt a martingale?"

Valjean swallowed, but answered honestly. "Never."

Javert began to loop it around his hands, over and under, over and under. "It chokes you. It corrupts. It – stand up." Valjean obeyed. Certainly rope was better than iron, and Javert was at least not a thoughtlessly cruel captor.  
  
"Hands behind your back." Javert's voice had taken on command. Valjean tried to keep irony out of his posture and perhaps did not entirely succeed. Javert stood in front of him and looped the rope around his neck, and his fingers grazed Valjean's skin through his open shirt as he tied the noose knot at his collarbone.  
  
Was this why he had been so intent on pursuit? The life of a police inspector could not offer many outlets for release if Javert had always wanted this: impossible to slip into the underworld for a night to explore his desires if that underworld knew his face as well as their own, and even more impossible to do this with a fellow, and open the possibility of impropriety and censure. Javert looped the rope around his thighs and passed it – Valjean's breath hitched as his hand brushed there, and was replaced by rough rope – through his legs.  
  
"Turn around." Valjean did, facing the perfunctory display of cuffs and rope on the wall. Or possibly not so perfunctory. Javert tied Valjean's hands firmly behind his back, and stood back to look critically at the work.  
  
Valjean had to admit it was a clever device: moving any way, even shifting foot to foot, caused the rope to rub against all parts of his body it touched, while the light pressure around his throat, which was non-existent when he let his hands and legs fall slack, increased if he pulled in any way. Javert watched him test the tension, discovering the unexpected constraints of every motion – conscious or unconscious, intentional or not – with an unreadable expression that might have been pleasure.  
  
"It's humiliating, isn't it," he said.

Valjean nodded.

"What was that?" Javert said sharply.  
  
"It is," Valjean said.  
  
"I stayed all night in it," Javert said. "Couldn't sleep. I thought I was mad when you came in. Or dead already." Valjean unconsciously took a step towards him, and the rope tightened around him. Javert looked down at his body, and up at his face.

This was an odd act of charity, if charity was what it was, but in the past two days Valjean had felt a kind of delirious transcendence, as if in stepping past his gate that night he had stepped off the map into another kind of world, where odd things were not so odd. Javert must have felt the same. They looked at each other in the small yellow light of the lamp, and the soft quietness of the dark blue morning outside. Abruptly Javert reached out and used the rope around his neck to bring him close, and pressed his mouth against Valjean's in a harsh and unskilled kiss.

Valjean was in danger of losing his balance, his nose crushed against Javert's cheek, and he struggled to stay upright and breathe, fumbling against him. In response Javert grunted and walked him backwards, pressing him against the wall, sliding a knee between Valjean's legs to hold him in place. The friction of knee and rope caused Valjean's cock to twitch and begin to stiffen, and he closed his eyes. A furious arousal was building in him, entirely apart from the physical stimulation, and when Javert dropped his hand from the knot at his neck and fisted his shirt, he gasped and shifted his hips to meet him, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss.

Javert broke away, breathing heavily, looking almost accusing at Valjean. "Does this please you?"

Valjean was likewise breathless, and could not collect his thoughts enough to be witty. "You can see it does," he said.

"Does this – " he gestured at the martingale – "please you?"

Valjean considered, as much as he was able with Javert's hands still on him and his face so close to his own. "The noose is galling," he admitted. "But of all the bondage I have worn, I find this the least difficult."

He felt the Javert's hardness against his own, rubbing almost imperceptibly against him. He closed his eyes and leaned into the movement, allowing his weight to bear down on the friction point between them. Suddenly Javert harrumphed and stepped away, took him by the collar and flung him to the floor; with his hands tied behind him, Valjean was unable to catch himself, and fell hard on his shoulder. He hissed more in surprise than pain.

The floor was, unsurprisingly, pristine. Javert awkwardly stepped over him and pulled him up to his knees, and sat on the bed holding Valjean at arm's length before him. "Still?" he said.

"Still," Valjean said.

If he hadn't known better he would have thought it was a whimper that passed Javert's lips. But he dropped his hands from the rope and held them in his lap. Once again he seemed to be thinking, though it did not seem to Valjean there was much to decide now. Valjean shifted and leaned forward, his movements even more constrained now that he was on his knees, and moved close to Javert's clothed thigh. He pressed his lips against the fabric there.

"Stop that," Javert said roughly. "It's unseemly."

Valjean paused only briefly before mouthing the fabric of his uniform trousers again, further up.

Javert groaned.

Valjean could not explain why doing this was sending shoots of pleasure to his prick, or why his heart was thudding so frantically when he did not feel fear. But it was still not yet day and this was not yet reality. Javert's fingers fluttered over the closure of his uniform trousers and Valjean paused, holding his breath. If he had his hands free he would be unbuttoning the damned clothes himself, but he was nearly certain his restraint was, for Javert, part of this.

Without looking up he heard Javert exhale, in resignation or anticipation, and slip open the front his trousers. His cock was, like the rest of him, clean and rigid, neatly kept. Valjean leaned in and pressed his lips to the underside. Javert lifted his hand, at first a violent gesture as if to push him away, then settled it to rest on the top of Valjean's head.

The tension in the martingale slackened when Valjean bent his head and took the length in his mouth, and Javert shuddered and clutched in his hair. Valjean took that as encouragement, and carefully worked his way down. Breathing took some getting used to, especially with the rope hanging lightly around his neck, but Javert didn't seem to mind the few moments it took for Valjean to learn and adjust. Indeed Javert was already breathing harshly and fast, and soon Valjean hardly had to move his head at all as Javert grasped his head and thrust jerkily into his mouth. He moved rough and fast, knocking against Valjean's lips as he tried to curve his tongue below and around Javert's cock, and it was not long before he gripped Valjean's head with both hands, holding him in place, cried out and spilled into him.

The most gracious thing to do seemed to swallow, so Valjean did. He moved his mouth up and down the length, gently curling away the remainders, before straightening and looking up at Javert. The inspector's eyes were closed and his head was tilted up, baring his throat.

He seemed to come back to himself and looked down, took his hand away from Valjean. A warm look of regret came over his face.

"This was not kind," he said, and again Valjean was unsure whether this was intended for him or to himself. Javert unsheathed the small uniform knife at his belt, and carefully held it away from Valjean's flesh while cutting away the rope from his neck, as Valjean had done for him little more than a day before. Valjean breathed more easily then, and when Javert leaned over him to cut the rope on his thighs, lifted his head to catch the other man in a kiss. Javert stiffened in surprise, and after a tentative moment pulled away again.

"Let me see you," he said hoarsely, and as he cut away the rope he began to cut away Valjean's clothing as well.

As the ropes came off his hands Valjean reached up and tugged at Javert's trousers, the hem of his uniform shirt, his boots, anything he could reach. They fought to undress each other, half playfully, half serious, pushing away each others' hands with just enough force to show how much they were holding back.

Valjean found himself mostly under Javert on the bed, his clothing on the floor in pieces and – he had to stifle a laugh, afraid Javert would misunderstand him – his boots in a straight pair next to the desk. Valjean propped himself up on his elbows and watched Javert for his next move.

Javert looked dazed at Valjean below him, even more at Valjean's cock, which had been growing steadily harder. Valjean had never seen another man's erect member, and he was not sure Javert had either: the inspector grasped it with a look of wonder. Valjean let out a long, low hiss and threw back his head. Christ, no wonder so many men made stupid decisions for the chance to have someone touch you like _this_.

Javert moved his hand awkwardly up and down the length, making Valjean breathe fast and ragged, then let go. Valjean couldn't help the annoyed look he shot down the bed. Javert made a low creaking sound, which Valjean realised was laughter.

"I think I would like to try this," Javert said, indicating Valjean's prick, and it took Valjean a moment to realise what he meant.

"Have you ever – ?"

Javert shook his head.

"Nor I," Valjean said. They looked at each other and suddenly, easily, began to laugh.

The tension was beginning to fall out of Valjean's shoulders, and although he was half certain all this would vanish when the sun rose, and he would find himself packed off to prison without even a pair of intact clothes for his trouble, here and now he pulled Javert in for an open, messy kiss.

"Oil?" he suggested, and Javert reached up to the desk to tip a palmful of lamp oil into his hand. He rubbed his hands together and applied it to Valjean's prick with the dedication he must have shown to paperwork in the constabulary. He said as much, and Javert shot him a very dark look, with the barest corners of a smile.

"Hands above your head," he said, and Valjean slipped into obeying, grasping the posts of the headboard. Javert nodded appreciatively. "Keep them there," he said.

"No cuffs?" Valjean said, not sure how much he was joking.

"No," Javert said. Valjean's palms were suddenly sweaty, and his throat dry.

Javert took his time to examine his body, stretched out on the bed, and Valjean, who had never thought of himself as a lover might, looked down too. He was still muscular, though the hair on his chest and stomach was curling grey and his skin was discolouring here and there from age. No matter. Javert was an elongated version of himself, and Valjean watched in pleasure and thrill as the inspector ran his hands across Valjean's stomach, and torso, and thighs. Valjean desperately wanted to touch him in response, and gripped the headboard until he was sure his fingers must be white.

Javert straddled Valjean and reached down to position his cock.  
  
"Let me help–" Valjean let go of the headboard.  
  
"Hands above your head," Javert snapped, and Valjean recoiled silently back into place. But he could not stop a deep groan when Javert first sank onto him, tentatively, and paused, shifting.  
  
"Christ," Valjean whispered faintly, and Javert shot him a warning look. He put a hand on Valjean's chest to steady himself, breathed slowly, and eased himself down. " _Christ_ ," Valjean said again.  
  
"Stay still," Javert commanded, and began to move slowly up and down. Valjean's eyes practically rolled back in his head.  
  
When he was comfortable with the rhythm, he said to Valjean, "Harder." Valjean complied, grunting in short sharp breaths. "Touch me." Valjean reached for his face, but Javert batted his hand away: "Not there." So Valjean grasped at Javert's hip, feeling the muscles flex as he moved. Javert closed his eyes and looked determined. His cock was half-erect again.  
  
"Javert," Valjean gasped, and Javert opened his eyes and saw the look on Valjean's face. He lifted Valjean's hand from his hip and pushed it back towards the headboard as Valjean grasped at air, thrusting desperately upwards.  
  
" _Hands_ above your _head_ , 24601," Javert said, and Valjean came in a bright fierce rush.

When Valjean could see again Javert was still above him, watching his face. Cold blue light was seeping in the bottom of the window, and Valjean looked up at the ceiling and tried to bring his hoarse rapid breathing under control.

"It's too bad," Javert said.

Yes. Valjean closed his eyes. Dawn was here: it was time for whatever this was to disappear into the dusk, and life resume with the day. "Thank you, at least," he said.

"I mean, it's too bad about the convict."

"What convict?"

"The one who died in the sewers last night," Javert said, still watching him. He spoke as if they were discussing a news story. Valjean was having difficulty holding onto what was actual and what was not. "Expired of his wounds, just before I could apprehend him. I suppose the body will never be found."

"Ah."

Javert shifted, realigning himself and drawing an exhausted groan from the man below him. "And your name?"

Really, Valjean thought, _vous_ was simply comically formal for someone who still had his cock up his arse. He put his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes again. "Fauchelevent."

"The man who-"

"Yes."

Javert was thoughtful. "That was a kindness." The word sounded unfamiliar in his mouth, though it was the second time that day Valjean had heard him say it.

"To save a man's life? Hardly a kindness – a necessity rather."

He opened his mouth as if to argue, closed it and did not. Instead he pushed himself off Valjean, who sighed, and went to fill a basin in the side room. He cleaned himself efficiently and tossed the cloth in the laundry-bin, then leaned out the door. "There's water to wash," he said.

But Valjean was asleep.

Javert stood looking down at him for a minute, maybe two, maybe even five, before nudging him gently aside to make room to lay beside him and pulling the cover over them both. The blue morning light was filling up the window, and before Javert closed his eyes he saw the beginning of warm rosy dawn.


End file.
